


The Curse Ongoing

by ElvenSemi



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Forgotten Realms
Genre: (Obviously), Curse of Strahd, D&D appropriate levels of violence, Drow, Dubious Consent, Found Family, Foursome - M/M/M/Other, Half-Elves, Intersex Character, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other, Polyamory, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threesome - M/M/Other, Tieflings, Vampire Sex, Vampires, almost all the sex in this is consentual strahd is just a dick so i needed those tags i'm sorry, but like actually instead of the weird fetishy things people do with intersex characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-10 02:39:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15281760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSemi/pseuds/ElvenSemi
Summary: This fic is an ongoing dumping ground for stories (mercifully in chronological order) about the D&D pre-made campaign Curse of Strahd.There are few worse places to be in the Realms than Barovia, by Weary's standards. But if you're going to be trapped in hell for all eternity, no chance of escape for even your damned soul, might as wellbring your children with you.Nothing says a good time like trying to babysit a squad of children and teenagers while dodging the eyes of a chronically bored, powerful immortal in a world full of undead and danger.





	1. Character Summaries

**Author's Note:**

> Expect this to look super ugly for a while; it's a collection of fics set around/inspired by my D&D campaign. I just need a place to keep them and gave up because there's nothing else on the internet that works as well as Ao3. It's gonna be a lot of stuff that may or may not be amusing to people who aren't in the campaign itself, it's going to be disjointed as hell until I can look back over it and see what needs to be added, it's probably going to be A LOT OF SMALL CHAPTERS until I have a chance to compile things better. Most of the tags, as well as the rating, are for things that happen/probably happen in the future, so, you know, just... be ready for that? 
> 
> SOME DISCLAIMERS: This is a **horror campaign** and so there are therefore **horror elements**. I can't say going in exactly what will be in this because I'm not the DM, but there will be appropriate warnings before every chapter. Use your best judgment. This is dark and going dark places (though here's hoping we get a good ending!) so if that's not your cup of tea, I have plenty of happier stuff to be read!

**PCs**

**Weary**  
Tiefling cleric of Lathander, 62, has seen better days. Uses ey/em pronouns, you have to just deal with it, okay. Weary's specialty was always funeral rites, but ey has secret knowledge of Barovia and Count Strahd. Ey was once informed ey was destined to do something great there in Lathander's name, and ey proceeded to spend most of eir adult life trying to avoid it. After a wild youth raised by and then in service to the Church of Lathander, ey settled into the wilderness to avoid responsibility. Unfortunately, responsibility found em in the form of a half-sea-elf child and a very, very strange kobold, and then destiny found em in Barovia despite all eir struggles to the contrary. 

Strahd took a personal interest in Weary relatively early on, but all ey really wants is to get the assorted children with em somewhere safe. Ey's working very hard on not considering the implications of where ey is. It's not working. 

**Chara**  
Half-sea-elf bard, 19, doesn't really understand what's happening. Uses she/her pronouns. Her sea elf mother dropped her off with her fisherman father and then proceeded to fuck off back into the ocean. Unfortunately, Chara's father died of the plague when she was still small. Weary found her young, homeless and alone in the small fishing town closest to eir remote home in the forest. Over the course of a year, ey befriended her, fed her, and finally wound up adopting her, unofficially. She always had a passion for music and a spark of arcane magic. Weary had neither, but encouraged her all the same, and by the time she was thirteen, she began busking for money in town, and then, later, performing in inns and taverns. 

She has a happy-go-lucky personality that she uses to try to keep spirits up, especially the spirits of her adopted father, who seems to be not emself since they came to Barovia. She's enamored with Ismark and Milivoj, but she's young and enamored very easily. 

**Zur-snag**  
Kobold barbarian, 12, self-declared protector of the family. Uses he/him pronouns. A self-proclaimed "explorer," Zur-snag left his home to be an adventurer and see the world. He was, unfortunately, not very good at surviving, which is why he was found, very hungry and very badly pretending he was not very hungry, by a bemused Weary. Small enough to be mistaken for a child--and very young, in any case--he found himself adopted. He wandered off and nearly got killed several times before Weary convinced him that he was needed around home to "protect" emself and Chara. 

Zur-snag is not that bright, but bombastic and adventurous and always down for a good time. He tends to just go along with whatever the rest of his 'family' wants to do. He's recently come into possession of a very magic, very sentient sword, and spends a lot of his spare time having awkward one-way conversations with it, because he has yet to figure out he can just think at it and does not, in fact, have to speak out loud. 

**Bambam**  
Drow warlock, 10, adorable little piece of shit. Uses he/him pronouns. "Bambam" was the first of many children that Weary tripped over and proceeded to adopt in Barovia. A poor kid from the city raised by a family prone to poverty and arrest in roughly equal measure, he is, in fact, the reason why he, Phin, and Horse are even _in_ Barovia to begin with. They had been in a jail cell prior, and in an attempt to find his way to freedom, Bambam used and old family ritual to make a deal--unfortunately, rather than a powerful demon, he got some half-assed wannabe god named "Odd Howard." The sudden onset of power shifted everyone sideways through reality, into a dungeon at the bottom of a nightmare house in Barovia. 

Bambam is new into his powers and already extremely cocky with them. He's been known to start trouble he can't finish, loves to steal, hoards pretty much everything, and generally behaves exactly how one would expect a street rat from the city to behave. Despite all this, or perhaps because of it, Weary is completely enamored with him and desperate to keep him safe. He seems to chafe at any form of parental affection from Weary, but nonetheless contents to being kept fed and alive. 

**Horse**  
Lizardfolk blood hunter, ~10-12, doing their best. Uses they/them pronouns. Horse was in the same jail cell as Bambam when his ill-timed rise to power shifted everyone out of reality and into Barovia. They wear a disguise in their day-to-day life, that of a doll wearing a wooden horse mask. It is not significantly less alarming to behold than their actual appearance, but they do an odd sort of entertaining performance in the get-up, pretending to be a dancing marionette. They have little to say about their past, and no one wants to pry, but were clearly some sort of combination thief/entertainer. The first time they turned into a terrifying half-snake monster, they nearly gave Weary and everyone else present a heart-attack, but everyone has since just sort of accepted it without wondering why and how, exactly, their friend is capable of that sort of shifting. 

Horse is growing attached to the others in the party, particularly Weary, who has shown what to Horse is a bizarre amount of protective affection. They often get into trouble with Bambam, who is also strongly wired in the direction of "steal everything." Their primary drive in life was to stay fed. Now that Weary is insistently making sure they never go hungry, they're at something of a loss and have sided on "making sure the person who keeps me fed doesn't die." 

**NPCS**

**Count Strahd von Zarovich**  
Count Strahd von Zarovich is the vampire overlord of Barovia. Weary knows his secrets, and the secrets of Barovia itself, but is very tight-lipped on the matter, lying and evasive. Despite not knowing Weary's connection to himself and his kingdom, he's taken an interest in em--and the entire party of newcomers. 

[More details will come on Strahd as the party learns of them. No spoilers~] 

**Escher**  
Escher is the most recent of Strahd's vampire spawn. Strahd is growing bored with him, and Escher is growing paranoid about it, afraid with Strahd's waning interest, he will be cast off like so many others. He's increasingly jealous of Weary and the unwanted attention eir getting as the newest thing around. 

**Phin**  
A human paladin, 14-15, who was with Horse and Bambam and summarily adopted by Weary as well. They spend most of their time with Ireena, with whom they are growing very close. 

**Ireena**  
Ireena is the adopted daughter of the old Burgomeister of the town of Barovia. She's recently garnered the unpleasant and unwanted attention of Strahd, who has already visited her once. Her brother, Ismark, and the party are rushing her out of the shadow of Castle Ravenloft and to the relative safety of a much further away village. She's befriended both Phin and Weary, who has a slight crush on her that eir not doing anything with. 

**Ismark**  
New Burgomeister of Barovia, Ismark hates Strahd with a burning passion, and now that his sister has been delivered to safety, thinks of nothing but his destruction... despite Chara's affections and her wishes that his attention might wander more from this singular purpose. 


	2. Meetcute

Weary doesn't sleep. 

This isn't for any ironic purpose with regards to eir name or anything; ey doesn't need to not sleep to be Weary anyway. No. It's just. Sinking in. Slowly. 

Barovia. Barovia. Not just the country but the town. Barovia. That castle. Outside. Strahd. Outside. Here. Ey's here, ey'd tried so hard not to be and now ey is and now _and now and now and now_

There is no leaving Barovia. 

**_Now now now now_ **

Even when you die, there is no leaving Barovia. 

**_nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn_ **

Ey knows what is wrong with the barkeeper. 

Ey stands to pace, to try and do anything to keep eir head from circling the same reality. Ey is here. Ey isn't leaving. None of them were leaving. Ey has five children here... 

Well, okay, some of them are questionable. Chara is fond of reminding em she is a grown woman, for all she isn't. The human Phin is... young. Too young to be here, but past that, hard to tell. 

And Weary had always been bad at reptile ages. 

The drow child is the obvious problem. He can't be more than what, ten? He wants to leave. How can Weary tell him that he can't, not ever? What child could handle that? 

Break it to them slowly, maybe. The fog first, yes, ey'd have to or they'd try to leave and get hurt, sooner or later. The rest... they didn't have to know. Not now. Maybe ey was wrong, maybe there was a way no way no way no way no way-- 

Ey stops pacing around the living room when a sound on the old wood alerts em to the presence of someone. Ey jolts at the sound, head whipping around, only to relax once he realizes who it is. Just the woman. "Oh, it's you... uh, Ireena, was it?" 

"I am she, yes. Ireena Kolyana." She sits down in a chair across the room. She's wearing a finely engraved metal breastplate and has a rapier hanging by her side, both things that are vaguely comforting to em at the moment. Ey's still in eir chain mail, and isn't particularly planning on changing out of it anytime soon. 

Weary idly wracks eir tired mind, but the name means nothing to em. Ey wants it to mean nothing, wants this to be simple. Ey also knows it won't be, because bolting out from under Strahd's nose does not sound advisable, per se, but here they all are. "So..." Ey hunts for a topic that isn't the obvious. "This is... a nice house?" Was, anyway. Had been, once. 

"Our father was very proud of it, once." She falls quiet again, probably in contemplation of her father's death. Ey should ask what happened. Ey does not. 

"I'm sorry about your father." Eir gaze falls to the coffin that they'd be carrying across the town tomorrow. Hopefully, without disaster striking. "And, you know..." With a wry, self-deprecating smirk, ey gestured towards the windows. "Everything else."

"He was a very kind man. He took me in when he did not have to, when anyone else wouldn't have." She follows eir gaze, to the windows and then to the makeshift holy symbols on the walls. There's a rising sun of Lathander on the stairs, comforting but not comforting enough. "I wish I knew what he wanted," she says, sounding equal parts scared and angry about it. 

"Well, nothing good," ey suggests, shifting uncomfortably. It seems like a safe suggestion. "He hasn't said anything...?" Ey doesn't really want to know, but probably should. This is probably the sort of thing he's supposed to know. 

"I don't remember much, to be honest. And I can only assume he wants to kill me...eat me I suppose. But he hasn't yet." 

There could be a lot of reasons for that, but Weary doesn't bother listing them. Maybe he's the sort to play with his food? Maybe they _can_ just sneak her out under cover of day, and he would move on to something new. Hope springs eternal. "After we get your father to the church, we can head out of here," ey suggests. Quickly, with all haste, fast enough that everyone was distracted and ey will have time to process this bullshit. "Ismark says he has another place to take you to?" 

"He wants to take me to the Abbey of Saint Markovia. Our father used to talk about how it was a bastion of good in this place. Failing that, he wanted to take me to Vallaki. Its a town in the center of the valley, out of the sight of his castle. It's well defended. Not like here." She moves her hair out from where it had been stuck in her breastplate, and ey sees two bite marks on her neck for a second before her hair hides it again.

If she was going to transform, she'd be there by now, or close. She'd have symptoms. It should be fine. 

"Those both sound like good ideas. I could stand to go to the Abbey myself." Maybe ey could check in with... someone. Anyone. Ey runs idle fingers across the holy symbol hanging over eir chest, wondering if it would do any good in a worst case scenario. There are so many on the walls. That's a good sign. Would eir faith be enough? "I was a bit surprised when your brother approached us in the inn," ey admits. "We're a little..." Ey gestures vaguely at emself, but ey are actually arguably in the top 3 for "normal looking" in the group.

"He's very driven these days. His entire life, all he's wanted to do is to kill _him_... But now, especially with our father dead, it seems to have intensified. I think he thinks that if he can keep adventurers alive long enough to figure out their way around they might have more of a chance? Especially after a year ago. Death doesn't discriminate here, the people might, but they just don't know any better. Superstitions are all that have kept them alive." 

"'Adventurers', huh?" Ey tries not to sound intensely amused, wondering if Ismark had gotten a good enough look at them. Their 'adventuring party' was a squadron of teenagers and a cleric on the verge of a panic attack. "Well, I wish him the best of luck. I certainly wouldn't blame anyone for being far more skeptical of a group like us." The abbey, ey decides. A good enough plan, for now. "What happened a year ago, that gives him such new hope?" 

"There was a great wizard who came here. He got half the village excited and driven to storm the castle to overthrow _him_." She keeps refusing to say Strahd's name, but the inflection makes it clear who she means. "It was a great battle; we saw the lightning and fire from all the way down here. My brother wanted to go with them, but our father stopped him. A good thing too, they all died, or worse... The wizard died with them, but he didn't go without a fight, that much is sure" 

"I can see how that would embolden a... kind of hope," Weary says, instead of being honest and saying if that happened in eir town ey'd head for the hills. "I'm just as glad your brother has opted for heading to safer waters, though. I would very much like to get the children much further away." Tired of pacing, finally, ey slumps into a chair, wincing and pausing to rearrange eir tail to dangle through the arm rest. 

"It's just to get me safe, he plans to come back once I'm safe. Besides, now that our father is dead, he's the new burgomeister. Not that the village knows that yet. But they will."

Weary wants absolutely nothing to do with any of that, but it's still probably the best way for them all to get out of town, going together. "That must be a very stressful job." Or like, an impossible one, even without wanting to kill your evil overlord on top of it. "I'm surprised you're still up. You should get some rest if we're going to travel tomorrow." Not that ey could blame her if she couldn't sleep. Ey sure couldn't. 

"Yes, I should. But first I just wanted you to know that if it came to it I'd rather kill myself than be his. Ismark won't accept that, but I thought you should be prepared." 

That shocks em silent, but after a moment, ey nods. "I'll... keep that in mind. Hopefully it doesn't even come close to that." 

"Good night then. We will wake you when it is light." She stands up, adjusts her rapier, and heads up the stairs. Presumably to sleep or get her things in order. 

Weary, for eir part, stays in the room near the front door, eir mind racing in endless circles, refusing to stop. Exhaustion must get the best of em eventually, however, because ey wakes up to the sound of the front door closing. Ey bolt up, but there's no one in the room. No one seems to have entered. Ey scurries quietly through the house, intending to check every room, when ey notices. 

Eir room. The room that had the drow child in it. 

It's empty. 

* * *

There were people in her house tonight. 

Had she hired _bodyguards_ perhaps? The thought was deeply amusing. Newcomers, he could all but taste it on them, on the fearlessness with which they moved past boarded up windows, in the way they slept solidly through the night. 

Well, most of them. 

Closer to dawn--or what passed for it--than not, out the front door slipped a tiny little figure. Not a halfling, though. A child. Hood left down, it was easy to see dark skin and white hair. A _dark elf_ child. That was interesting. Wandering around alone at night, he would last approximately fifteen seconds here. Bit of a shame, really. 

He watches the child with an idle sort of interest, not moving too far from the mansion, when the front door opens, much less subtly this time. At first, the figure is partly obscured by the gate. In the time it takes for whoever it is to realize the child wasn't even smart enough to stay in the garden, he's lost track of where the _actual child_ went. Hmph. Children. Tiny, slippery little things. 

The new figure is adult, hood up this time, but much less cautious as it launches over the barricaded gate and thuds down onto the street. It glances around, arms clutched tight to its chest... terrified. Terror _wafts_ off of it, the way it moves, the staccato fluttering of the heart in its chest. 

_Someone_ has a much clearer concept of where they are. 

The figure takes off down the street, not quite running but moving with a sort of swiftness... towards his castle, in the exact opposite direction the child went. 

Well, not a perfectly clear concept, perhaps. 

He watches with amusement as the figure jogs around the streets. As it moves, he can pick up details underneath the shifting cloak... for instance, thrashing with uncontrolled emotions, is a _tail_. Even more interestingly, when the figure turns slightly towards where he's hidden, he can see the bright glint of a golden holy symbol... of the _Dawnbringer_! A holy man with a tail. Possibly horns, too, from the way that hood is falling. A tiefling. A tiefling priest of Lathander, oh how funny. It could not possibly have come to a worse place. Not a local, despite the fact its fear made it seem local. Couldn't have been, how long had it been since he'd seen a tiefling? He would have known if one had been here for long. 

It stops, suddenly, at one point, and spins around, whole body tense, a high scream that's halfway to a snarl ripping out from between bared fangs and echoing through the night. Its cloak flares back enough as it spins to show not only the holy symbol again, but the glinting of chain armor and a sword at its waist. Not even a priest, a cleric! A little fighter, come to serve its god. How amusing! 

It rushes over to a bush, where a white-headed childed has popped up. Ah, so that's where the drow child had gone. Literally hiding in a bush. No points for creativity, but it had worked, at least. He shifts closer in the shadows to overhear. 

"Thank Lathander!" the tiefling breaths. Its voice is tight with fear, pitched neither high nor low. "What are you _doing_ out here?" 

"I have four hours to waste," the child says, much more obviously a boy. "You sounded like you've been here before, you know where I can get some food?" Did it now? That was interesting. It couldn't possibly have been. "Wait," the child continues, before the tiefling can answer. "Actually, that isn't what I wanted to tell you. I think there's a man-eating wolf around here. You should probably also get in the bushes." 

The tiefling shakes its head. "We should _both_ get back to the _house_." It was, nonetheless, shifting to hide behind some bushes. 

"Dude, this place is _super_ weird. All the stuff I took from the house looks crappy and old now, and there might be some weird attack dog here... You don't think they're duping us into being a meal, do you?" 

"I think we can trust those two..." Talking about Ireena, no doubt. "I think. Trust them enough for this, anyway." And what, precisely, would 'this' be? Rooms for the night? Ismark would not offer unless he was planning something. 

"Did that lady tell you anything useful when you guys were talking? I fell asleep." 

It had been talking to Ireena. 

"Mmm, a bit. Nothing too exciting, just what I expected. Her brother is going to be the new burgomeister here." 

"The new _what_." 

"Can we _not_ have this conversation in a bush?" the tiefling hissed glancing around again. "There is a house. A house covered in holy symbols." 

"Fine, fine, but then you're telling me what a burger master is." 

The tiefling stands and begins steering the child back towards the house they'd come out of, towards where he's hiding. It's still glancing around nervously, one hand protectively on the child's shoulder, as if it expects something--something like him--to swoop out of the shadows and steal him away. 

Its eyes scan the darkness, wide with fear. They slip over where he's hiding, and then stop, narrowing as they lock onto him. Sharp and grey, no, purple, he can see the shades even in the darkness, and my my my, he's been spotted indeed. The tiefling freezes briefly, hand tightening on the boy's shoulder as it goes ram-rod stiff, even its tail freezing in place. Its eyes travel down, then back up, dawning horror on its face. 

It smells of blood and sweat and fear and soul and _fire_. All wrapped up in a holy man of Lathander. And he smiles so sweetly, because this is where the fun starts. 

* * *

It hadn't been Strahd. 

There was no way it had been Strahd, because that would be crazy, just because it was definitely a vampire, definitely most certainly a vampire, outside the house of the person Strahd was after lately. A full vampire in Barovia, right outside Strahd's castle, but that didn't mean it was Strahd, it could have been anyone, ey definitely hadn't just made direct, maddening eye contact with Count Strahd von Zarovich, because that was _fucking insane and horrible._

Ey was in the bathroom now, cleaning up, pretending that was all ey was doing and ey definitely wasn't having an entire panicking _fit_ because there wasn't any way _out_ there wasn't _a way out and he'd seen em and the child and_

Deep breaths. Tomorrow ey has to deliver a corpse to a church and then... get as far away from Strahd as possible. 


	3. The Fortune Teller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how interesting this would be to read, but it's important for us to have these sorts of notes. Some great foreshadowing in there, too, so I want to include it.

Weary had trouble believing they'd actually gotten out of the town of Barovia with so little trouble... in the relative scheme of things, in any case. Some wolves, which had gone poorly until it hadn't. Ey ran idle fingers across the letter they'd found on the corpse in the woods that the wolves had been so curious of. From the old Burgomeister, about Strahd. Pieces of a puzzle, but ey already knew what the picture would look like when it was done. 

And now ey was here, in some tent with an old woman who _knew who ey was, knew who they all were_. Why had ey agreed to a fortune reading? Ey knew eir damn future already. 

She gestured to the card on the right. "This card tells of history. Knowledge of the ancient will help you better understand your enemy." 

"Sounds _neat_ ," announced Chara, reaching forward to flip over the card. It was eerie to behold, a hooded figure looming over two undead with pentagrams on their horned skulls. Weary wrinkled eir nose in distaste. Ey needed no occult arts to tell em eir enemy was a damned undead. Didn't they _all_ know that by now? 

"The Necromancer," the old woman informed them. "This card represents unnatural events and unhealthy obsessions; those who follow a destructive path... **A woman hangs above a roaring fire. Find her, and you will find the treasure.** " Her voice had gone weird, neutral and droning, her misty eyes had grown mistier. Ey did not care for it. Then, she gestures to the card closest to em. 

"This card tells of a powerful force for good and protection, a holy symbol of great hope." Ey perks up, curiously, reaching out to the card. Ey hadn't been certain ey'd take part in this little game, not when the children seemed so interested, but a _holy symbol_ certainly caught eir interest. Ey flipped it; the card underneath bore an image of a large man, some kind of lord by his garb, pointing at a thin man, who was hiding a dagger behind his back. 

"The Traitor," she told them. "Betrayal by someone close and trusted; a weakening or loss of faith." Ey stiffened, fingers curling hard enough they nearly tore the corner of the letter. Eir jaw twitched; she'd seen eir symbol, even knew eir name. She was surely doing this on purpose. As if faith had _ever_ been eir strongest suit, hmph. " **Look for a wealthy woman. A staunch ally of the devil, she keeps the treasure under lock and key, with the bones of an ancient enemy.** " 

That boded ill for em getting eir hands on that holy symbol, then. Ey wanted nothing to do with any ally of the devil in Barovia. Disinterested, ey looked away, scowling. The others, however, were entranced as she gestured to the card on their left. 

"This is a card of power and strength. It tells of a weapon of vengeance: a sword of sunlight." 

"Weapons are _my_ strong suit," announced Zur-snag, who had been watching curiously from Weary's back, leaning onto eir shoulder. Now he scrambled forward; Weary leaned forward accommodatingly so he could flip over the card. It showed a picture of an odd man holding a mask, winking and smiling. 

"The Charlatan... Liars; those who profess to believe one thing but actually believe another." No one here, ey suspected, but ey couldn't help eir eyes from drifting slightly over to Phin, the young paladin who stood in the back corner, arms crossed and scoffing. " **I see a lonely mill on a precipice. The treasure lies within.** " 

They _all_ perked up in unison at that. "The mill!" Chara exclaimed. "Lil G--" 

"She just _said_ his name," Weary said, frowning. 

"That was a name? I thought she was dying." 

"Chara!" 

"No, I get that a lot actually," the boy in question, more often called Bambam but more accurately called an adorable little brat, interjected. 

"Anyway, you got a deed for a mill, didn't you? In that fuck--" 

"Language," Weary said, automatically. Chara rolled her eyes. 

"In that _weird_ house," she corrected, then stuck her tongue out at Weary. 

"Yeah, I totally did! It's legally mine now and everything!" Bambam said proudly. 

"There is only one mill in Barovia," the fortune teller, Madam Eva, informed them. 

"I guess we're going there first," Weary decided. "Do you know how to get there?" This, ey directed at Madam Eva. 

"Follow the road." It was Weary's turn to roll eir eyes. There was only one damn road. No shit they'd be following it. 

She gestured next to the card closest to her. "This card sheds light on one who will help you greatly in the battle against darkness." 

"Oh, new friend?" Horse asked curiously, reaching forward to flip the card over. They were still in their marionette get up, mask and everything, but it didn't seem to bother the fortune teller at all. The card was as unsettling as the first one had been, a gaunt, cloaked, undead figure on an equally gaunt mount, wielding a sword. 

"The Horseman! Death! Disaster in the form of loss , a horrible defeat, or the end of a bloodline." 

"Oh, great, it's good news," muttered Phin sarcastically from behind them. 

" **I see a dead man of noble birth, guarded by his widow. Return life to the dead man's corpse, and he will be your staunch ally.** " 

"Um," Weary said, clearly uncomfortable. "That's actually kind of the opposite of what I do, so."

The woman simply gestured to the final card. "Your enemy is a creature of darkness, whose powers are beyond mortality. This card will lead you to him!" 

"Finally, the good part!" Bambam exclaimed, moving forward. Wincing, Weary blocked his hands, which prompted a very angry glare. Ey didn't want to know where Strahd was, except maybe in order to _avoid_ em. If this lady thought otherwise, she was out of her mind... well, she clearly was at least slightly, ey supposed. 

"You can barely see onto the table, let alone reach," Weary said. Not a lie, though a rude observation. "Let me help." Ey lifted the child--always so light, alarmingly so--onto eir knee, then flipped the card over emself. This card held the picture of an androgynous figure in tight clothing, a fan covering half of their face, smiling eyes looking over the top. 

"Ah." The woman grinned wickedly up at him. "The Tempter. One who has been compromised or led astray by temptation or foolishness." Eir jaw twitched in irritation again, more at her grin than anything. And this was meant to be a card for a child? Ey held the boy a little tighter, glaring back at her. " **I see a secret place-a vault of temptation hidden behind a woman of great beauty. The evil waits atop his tower of treasure.** " 

A place to damn well avoid, then, though Bambam lit up at the mention of a 'tower of treasure.' 

"Let's go _there_!" he announced. 

"We'll go to the mill, if it's on the way." Weary said firmly. Ey stood up, placing Bambam back onto the ground. "Why don't you go see if the Vistani would be kind enough to share their food and camping spot with us tonight?" 

The others filtered out, murmuring amongst themselves about the reading, already debating meanings. Weary stayed behind, eyes drifting over to the old woman. 

"Madam Eva, was it?" 


	4. Entertained?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW!!! AHOY, THERE BE DICKS. M/M/NB. Fellatio, voyeurism (is non-consensual voyeurism a thing???).

It wasn't particularly safe to stay with the Vistani, Weary knew. Well, no one else did, since ey hadn't shared most of eir knowledge yet--he'd have to explain how he knew, it was a miracle Bambam hadn't put two and two together yet--but ey knew. They worked for Strahd. Not even particularly because they wanted to, ey suspected, but that was just the way things worked here. Ey would have to figure out a way around that, too, if ey was here for long. 

Which ey would be. 

_No escape no escape no escape no_

Ey needed a distraction. And stress relief. Ey couldn't spend another sleepless night panicking, ey needed a full night's sleep and a lot of prayer. Fortunately, ey was familiar with eir own biology, and knew exactly what ey needed to get both. Even more fortunately, ey was in the one place in Barovia where ey could get it no problem. 

It was essentially effortless, picking up the two most attractive--by Weary's standards--men in the camp. The women were all attractive in their own way as well, of course, but Weary just wasn't in the mood... particularly not with Ireena right there, being the most attractive woman in camp by far. The Vistani seemed easy-going, perhaps as eager for a good time in the face of inevitable death as Weary emself was at the moment. Cheerfully, the two--significantly younger, but that was sort of inevitable with human lifespans at this point--men escorted him into one of their wagons. 

It was remarkable, really, how much they fit inside. A raised bed sat at the end, resting on top of shelves upon shelves of storage; there were places to sit along the sides, as well as a full-on boudoir. A little wood stove, even, for cooking and probably warmth on rainy days when outdoor fires were out of the question. 

Homey. Reminded em a great deal of eir own little cabin in the woods, before ey'd had to build on the extensions to deal with all the children that kept showing up. 

It didn't limit the possibilities nearly so much as ey'd been worried about; clearly the Vistani knew how to decorate the inside of a wagon to allow a lot of room for extracurricular activities. The first of the men, taller than Weary, if barely, with long dark hair pulled back in a braid, pulled em closer with playful aggression. Ey grinned as an inch of tension left their body, already anticipating the meal. 

* * *

Eternity got boring. Eternity stuck in _one place_ got _very_ boring. So really, it wasn't particularly unusual that Strahd had set up a scry to watch like an entertainer's play. What was unusual was that there was anything at all to actually strike his interest and keep it. Fortunately, the little newcomers to Barovia had stumbled into a Vistani camp. He had intended to watch their conversations out by the fire, but then Lathander's tiefling had wandered by his field of view with a male Vistani on each arm, the smaller one leaning over to nip at its neck, and just like that, Strahd's plans for the evening had changed. 

Escher had wandered in at some point, curious, and stayed. He was sitting on the floor in front of Strahd, head resting against one knee, so as to be out of the way. And, Strahd suspected, conveniently located. 

The view was now of the inside of the wagon the tiefling had been lead into. Its cloak and bags had already been discarded outside, with that odd little blue girl who kept hanging off of Ismark--where his interest probably would have stayed if not for this new development. The tiefling had thrown it off to her as it had passed Strahd's field of view--putting on a bit of a show, making sure to draw attention, certainly. Well, it had attention for its little performance now, lucky thing. 

The armor under the cloak betrayed it as a Lathander's cleric even more obviously than the clasp of the cloak had, holy symbols embedded on each shoulder of the chain shirt. It had been quite a while since he'd seen symbols that new, but through the scry, they were completely harmless regardless. It wore a red scarf which doubled as a neck guard; goodness he'd seen _that_ before. He wasn't convinced anyone actually thought it _worked_ ; they likely wore them just to draw attention, bright red to taunt any vampires nearby of the blood in their veins. 

The skirts were an interesting touch. Not particularly effete, but when combined with its face, enough to insist its sex be a question, rather than an answer. An answer he'd be getting soon nonetheless; the Vistani were making quick work of the many layers of armor. It was an amusingly effective strip tease, two now-shirtless men revealing the tiefling's frame inch by inch. Even the men themselves had been chosen like a matching set for maximum aesthetic. One tall and muscular, the other one short and feminine. Strahd couldn't help smirking a bit in amusement at how much effort had _clearly_ gone into this. 

The tiefling itself stood starkly between the two, both physically and in terms of appearance. Lithe and muscular, body thin but corded. The body of a hiker, perhaps; not the thick, hefty muscle over a broad core that would indicate real power in a human. Broader than the smaller man, not so broad as the taller, a perfect spectrum, and darker than them both to boot, skin a deep earth brown with a purple tint that betrayed its ancestry as plainly as the horns that curved back around its ears. A narrow waist tucking in towards the hips, implying femininity its chest didn't match, a suggestively curved frame that had been hidden by layers of armor over cloth over leather over cloth. 

So _very many_ layers! Practically designed for slow teasing in removal. 

The taller Vistani's legs hit the vanity--the mirror of which Strahd was watching from. The tiefling had backed him against it, and his hands came down to support his weight as it kissed him aggressively. Its hands rested on the inside of his shoulders, and Strahd could just see, from this angle, how its thumbs played teasingly against the front of his throat. Tracing the veins--goodness, how unsubtle. Its tail waved like ripples on a pond, playful little shudders that rippled down from base to tip, as if taunting someone to grab it. The way it shuddered was perhaps also due to the actions of the shorter man, who'd knelt down. 

Fingers hooked around the waistband of the tiefling's final layer--a tight, thin cotton pant that clung to skin--and pulled down. The soft rise of hips were revealed, but little else, due to the way the tiefling was pressed against the vanity, half-lifting the taller man with one hand to sit on it. Its hand on the seated man's was so close to the mirror that Strahd could see exactly how it spasmed tighter as the short one, now hidden from view, did something no doubt pleasing. 

Strahd was similar in frame to that taller man, actually, though taller and significantly more attractive. Escher, in turn, had a build much like the one now making the tiefling squirm and grind against the man in front, through actions tauntingly unknown. It couldn't _possibly_ have been intentional, but it certainly _felt_ intentional, a show directly in front of a mirror after having advertised it outside by the fire. 

The tiefling ceased squeezing the man's hip, digging trimmed claws into flesh, and brought its hand towards his groin--hidden from sight, yes, but giving no illusion to its activities thanks to the movement of its arm. Up and down, but Strahd wouldn't have minded seeing the complete motions of the wrist, and were its fingers practiced or novice, clumsy with arousal? It didn't seem as though it could possibly have been new to this, but Strahd's Vistani servants were not exactly known for being choosey. 

The tiefling moved the man again, shifting him further up on the vanity. More to the side, not directly in front of the mirror, as if posing him for potential viewing pleasure. Angled the way he was, Strahd--and Escher, who was watching with more interest than Strahd's detached amusement--could see just how hard he was, pleasure beading at the tip of his erection. It spoke to the skill Strahd had been looking for--moreso when the tiefling kneeled down in front of him. 

Eyes sought upwards, no doubt catching the man's eye, as it ran a tongue teasingly along the length. The pleasured man's nails dug into the wood of the vanity, harder still when the tiefling opened its mouth and began sucking in earnest. Pretty lips when wrapped around a cock--they would be prettier on skin far paler, stretched significantly wider. Struggling to go wide enough, in fact, fear instead of teasing amusement glinting in its eyes. 

The tiefling was skilled. It was, in fact, wasted on the Vistani, but it seemed somewhat doubtful that the tiefling was doing it _for_ the Vistani, what with the way it posed everything just so. There were easier ways to get attention, but Strahd could appreciate enthusiasm. 

And then, abruptly, the tiefling froze. Its eyes darted from the dick it was focusing its attentions on straight to the mirror. Directly into it, in fact, eyes focused as if looking somewhere past it, sharp and intense. So close to the mirror, the shades of purple-grey were even more apparent, as were the way its eyes narrowed in angry concentration before widening to something more akin to the fear Strahd was accustomed to. 

Then, it raised its hand, and in a flash of golden light, the scry abruptly sparked out. 

Strahd blinked, shocked for a brief moment before realizing what had happened. Holy energy... had it cast some sort of ward on the mirror? There was another mirror in the vardi, Strahd knew and, annoyed, he moved to open a new scry, only to have it fizzle out before it had even started. 

Strahd's eyes narrowed, nails of one hand digging deep gouges into the wood of his chair's arm. Escher was glancing up at him, eyes carefully neutral in a way that he no doubt thought hid his thoughts, but did little to actually do so. He only looked so neutral when he was worried Strahd would notice emotions he wouldn't like to see. _Amusement_ , perhaps, at this new turn of events. 

It would be very easy to take out his new frustrations on the conveniently placed man. But that wouldn't be nearly so satisfying, when he knew _exactly_ where the one who had _purposefully_ vexed him was. He stood, wordlessly, and stalked to the window. This teasing cleric would learn exactly why it was a very bad idea to taunt Count Strahd von Zarovich. 


	5. Making Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw, m/m/m/nb, just, it's just a lot of dicks honestly. Butt stuff, oral, rough oral, tails (but not like tail SEX), a good summer spitroast between friends, what happens when you make a character to whom orgasms are basically just xanax + caffeine. 
> 
> that time when I published a gay orgy on my birthday...

It was childish paranoia, really. 

It was just a _mirror_. There was nothing _in it._ But ey'd looked up, mouth still wrapped around the Vistani's dick, and for the briefest second, could have sworn ey saw the eyes of the vampire-- _not Strahd not Strahd_ \--ey'd seen in Barovia. Panicked, ey'd thrown up a ward. Around a _wagon_. Honestly... But ey'd be cross with emself and eir paranoia later. There was a very insistent dick directly in front of eir face, and some very enthusiastic fingers stretching out eir ass. Ey was _too busy_ for eir own fears right now, that was the _entire_ point. 

He covered for his terrified pause by pulling the smaller man--erm, what had his name been, again? Z... Zack...? Zache! That had been it, probably a nickname for something longer, but cute, like him. Not that it mattered, but Weary felt bad if ey didn't at least remember names _during_ the act. It was a bare minimum ey tried to stick to now, having grown in maturity from eir more careless younger years. 

In any case, Weary pulled him over to sit on the vanity next to his friend... coincidentally, blocking the damn mirror from view. 

Ey could have been happy like this, really, mouth switching between cocks every minute or so, stroking when ey wasn't sucking. But ey was in a _mood_ , or ey wouldn't have grabbed men, specifically. Zache, in particular, had certainly not spent so much enthusiasm slicking em up just to be cheerful with a blowjob. 

It was _delightful_ , then, when the taller one--shit, uh, shit, it was... Van? Vano! Yes! Ha!--picked em up as he stood. Weary laughed with delight, legs and tail wrapping around his waist. He could carry em far enough to toss em down on the bed. It wasn't that far, in the grand scheme of things, but it still tickled Weary in all the right places. Virility, strength, all the things ey very much liked, and liked to think of as worshipful to Lathander, in a _sense_ , if ey stretched the limits of what ey'd been taught as a child. 

Ey started to sit up, grinning, but Vano hit em like a playful bullet, not hard enough to hurt but strong enough to startle, rolling em back onto the bed. There was a tangle of flailing limbs and laughter for a moment of wrestling before a clear victor emerged. Vano was on bottom despite his best attempts, Weary sitting backwards astride his chest, tail waving merrily in his face. Zache was laughing as well, teasing his friend, and in that moment, the laughter was as soothing to Weary's psyche as the dick would be a bit later. 

Even here, in Barovia, people were still people. It was a relief, made em feel less like a still living soul cast into the fires of the nine hells--which would arguably be preferable to Barovia to begin with, given eir heritage. Smiling, laughing, tripping over their own dicks and squirming around in pleasure. Life. Even here. 

Ey bent down to wrap eir lips around Vano's dick again, mid-laugh, delighting in the way it turned into a strangled groan. One that was mimicked by Weary when he grabbed eir tail, which was wagging gleefully above his face. The groan trailed into a longer moan when Vano stroked experimentally, and then a cry when he _pulled_ , yanking Weary a few more inches down his chest. 

"I like it," he declared. "A handle!" In response, Weary flicked him playfully in the face with the tip of eir tail. Vano pulled harder, all but yanking Weary's legs out from under em--a risky proposition with his _dick_ in eir _mouth_ , but Weary appreciated the vote of confidence. One hand moved to support eir waist, and ey was being half lifted, causing them to have to quickly catch their weight on their hands to avoid a somewhat violent faceplant onto Vano's dick. He pulled eir waist up until ey was straddling him, his intent clear in a matter of seconds. They were close enough in height for mutual fellatio to be a somewhat practical option, it seemed, and Weary appreciated the enthusiasm. 

Vano had barely gotten his mouth around Weary's length before the bed creaked with the sudden weight of Zache, who'd leapt on with enthusiasm mirroring their's. Weary let out a gasp around the dick poking at the back of eir throat, pulling back slightly to avoid any accidental jaw-clenching, as Zache once again went straight for eir ass, spreading it open to tongue it enthusiastically. 

Two mouths was enough to distract Weary from the dick at hand--or at mouth, technically--but fortunately, ey was somewhat certain ey was born without whatever makes humans gag. Which is not ideal in an infant, actually, but genetic quirks from a succubus can't all be gifts. More useful now, when trying to absentmindedly deep throat--not something ideally done absentmindedly in most cases. Eir tail wrapped idly around the back of Zache's neck, encouraging him without wrapping _all_ the way around his throat. That sort of thing was better saved for pre-negotiated moments. 

And it felt good, it did, but it was also just reminding em of what ey had dragged these two men away for in the first place. Ey squirmed in anticipation as Zache pulled away, eir tail trailing over his shoulder as he straightened. Then ey felt the head of Zache's dick pressing against em, and let a happy, growly little groan around Vano's cock. _Finally._ Not that ey didn't appreciate plenty of foreplay, mind, but ey was in a bit of a mood, and this is what would hit the spot. No pun intended, although that was, in fact, exactly what was happening. His cock slid past little pressure points of concentrated pleasure before nestling in as far as it could get, Zache's hips flush against eir ass. Weary let out a quiet groan of appreciation around Vano's length, and then Zache began to shift. 

Weary was now in the gleeful position of getting fucked while getting blown--not how ey'd anticipated this evening going, but the surprise was half the fun. Ey was increasingly distracted, barely able to focus on Vano, who was picking up the slack by thrusting upwards into Weary's mouth, blurring the line between fucking and fellatio as he grew impatient. Weary's tail wrapped around Zache, tip trailing up his chest, shuddering and twitching as ey grew closer and closer to climax. 

Ey normally tried not to come first with strangers--just manners, not that it mattered--but it had been some time and it was just too much stimulation on top of the relaxation of far too much fear and stress. Vano didn't stop sucking for a moment, and Weary dug eir grip into the bed's sheets as ey felt his throat swallowing around the head of eir cock. 

Ey let out a huff of satisfied breath as Vano finally popped off of em, giving the tip of eir dick a teasing little lick. Ey showed no signs of softening--and ey wouldn't, not for a while, one of those succubus perks that was a bit more reasonably fun, although it could make mornings difficult. Vano slid out from under em, however, out of Weary's mouth for only a moment as he shifted onto his knees and gripped one of Weary's horns, pulling it up slightly. 

"Good?" he inquired curiously, tilting Weary's head around a little, using eir horn like a handlebar. 

"You are very fond of things to grip," Weary replied, grinning. 

"I am! And you have quite a lot of very nice hair I could use instead, but I see a lot of hair and not very many horns at all." 

"Feel free," Weary offered, and Vano obliged, yanking the horn up and shoving back into Weary's mouth at the same time Zache thrust forward behind em. 

_This_ was what ey'd been after, trimmed claws still tearing holes in sheets, tail curling pleasure, the sort of overwhelming ey could only get from a crowd. No wiggle room at all, caught between two hard places. Too good and not enough; ey knew ey could take much more. It was hard to lose control, for em, when they had so much surplus, even more when it came to sex. It was no one's fault; ey were just designed for it. Who could exhaust someone whose birthright was unique command over a body designed for this exact purpose? 

Some things took a village to accomplish, after all. 

The two Vistani weren't an entire village, but they doing their damned best. Weary was always one to believe that enthusiasm could make up for a lot, and the men ey'd selected were nothing if not enthused for the situation. Probably lovers themselves, if ey'd gauged right--and ey tended to--or at least friends who didn't mind a good roll in the hay. Even better if there was a shiny new toy involved. 

Eir suspicions were rapidly confirmed as Zache elected to roll em over. Ey would normally have been happy to be manhandled, but Zache was light of frame and eir tail could make some things difficult, especially once it started wrapping around things--a tendency ey'd long ago stopped bothering to break. So ey rolled over emself, tail trailing off the side of the bed. Ey was still hard, cock glistening with saliva, and Zache took advantage, gripping eir cock like a handle before thrusting into eir ass all at once. 

Eir head fell back onto the bed, gasping loud at the sensation, and Vano shoved right back into eir mouth. Ey let out a grateful, satisfied little moan, then shifted a bit, pressing eir horns and head back into the firm mattress so that Vano could thrust straight down eir throat. Which, unfortunately, meant ey didn't have the _best_ view when the two men started making out above em. A burst of satisfied pleasure shot through em head to toe--or perhaps mouth to ass--like lightning. 

Encouraging love, pleasure, and happiness in such a way was honestly the best ey could do under the unique circumstances of eir life. The feeling of being a convenient tool with a designated use wasn't hurting either; the act of kissing made this about them, ey was just there so ey had something hot and soft in all the places ey weren't hard to thrust into while they did so. 

Weary was still riding that wave of pure delight when Zache's frantic thrusts abruptly stilled, and then-- 

Weary had never quite found the words to describe it, the subtle flow of relaxation coupled with a burst of vibrating energy. One would think the energy would make em hyper, but no, just alert, just... _fine_ , awake and aware and healthy and like everything in the world was doing perfectly alright in that moment. What ey'd needed, because objectively, nothing anywhere in this place was alright, but as ey drank in the delight of Zache's orgasm, as his hips let out little weak aborted thrusts as his heart and soul and passion poured out of him, _everything was right and fine._

Zache slumped backwards, spent cock slipping out of Weary. "Holy shit," he panted. "I think I just came enough for a week." 

"Nothing holy about it," quipped Vano, and Zache laughed, although the words stung a little bit from Weary's perspective. 

"Don't be ridiculous," Zache replied, sounding like he was grinning broadly despite his clear exhaustion. "This is a man of god, darling." 

* * *

Zache has slumped lazily on the ground, leaning against the bed. Vano, for his part, was extremely pleased with his sloppy seconds. He wasn't content just to thrust his way to completion, and had begun stroking Weary's still-slick cock while leaning back to thrust right up against all the right places. It was very nice to have someone who knew how to do this without having to be trained, Weary thought. 

His slow insistence on Weary's pleasure was doing wonders, and ey thought it spoke well of him; ey'd already come once and would have been perfectly content with that. But content with one orgasm didn't mean ey didn't thoroughly enjoy the second as it was milked out of em, a grip firm enough to border on painful and hard yanks on eir tail as ey was pulled back onto Vano's cock again and again. 

Eir chest was now remarkably sticky, moreso when Vano pulled out and followed suit, spraying a remarkable amount of come over eir cock and stomach. Well, remarkable for him, probably; Weary had a tendency to pull out everything one hand to offer. Humans did their best, but Weary probably had exceptional definitions for what could be defined as a "remarkable amount of come." 

Eir eyes were already closed from eir orgasm, and ey kept them shut, not wanting to alarm either man as ey drank in the delicious wave of pleasured energy. Eir back arched as if luxuriating in the sensation; two one right after another like that felt like ey was spoiling emself. And ey was, in a sense, but ey was spoiling them too, and after the last few days, ey deserved something nice. 

"You are _still hard_ ," Vano announced, voice somewhere between impressed and put-out. "I was trying very much, you know." 

"You did wonderfully," Weary informed him, not yet sitting up. Ey tapped eir horns, not yet risking opening eir eyes. A few more seconds, to be sure. "I inherited my mother's enthusiasm." Mother was a strong word, but they _had_ given birth to him, after a sense, so it counted. 

"I can normally go twice, you know," Zache commented from the floor. Weary reached over half-blindly to run a comforting hand through the man's hair. 

"I assure you, I am perfectly sated." 

" _This_ isn't," Vano points out, flicking a fingernail against the head of Weary's _very_ sensitive dick. Ey yet out a pained yelp, but eir dick twitched enthusiastically at the sensation. 

"Oh, hey, what about Durril?" Zache said suddenly, sitting up more straight. 

"Good idea! He's always good for a fun time. If you're looking to keep rolling, of course," Vano added, looking questioningly at Weary, who had finally opened eir eyes. 

Ey considered it briefly. Two was more than enough. But ey was still hard, and who knew when ey'd get another chance. Ey could--and probably would--die any day. Finally, ey nodded. "Sure," ey agreed with a bit of a smile. "I could eat." 

* * *

Durril, as it turned out, was much more, shall we say, traditionally masculine than either of the two men Weary had picked out. What could ey say, ey had certain tastes... and it was easier to know a man was interested when he radiated it. 

Durril was not quite as tall as Vano, but thick and much more obviously muscled. Speaking of thick, Weary knew almost immediately what they meant by "a good time." He wasn't exactly a _half-ogre_ , but he was up there in terms of girth, and Weary was enjoying the strain on eir jaw as ey stretched to avoid any contact between flesh and eir sharp teeth. 

It was probably good for eir ability to hike tomorrow that he seemed more than content with head, standing to the side of the bed so that Weary had to kneel on the floor. Vano was lounging on the bed, watching with interest. Zache, on the other hand, had fetched more than just Durril, and was working a polished wooden toy in and out of Weary's ass. It wasn't quite the same as the vigorous spitroasting ey'd received earlier, but the toy was unlikely to get tired. 

And Zache was _good_ with it, seeming to know exactly which inches to thrust quickly back and forth so that the ridges along the outside rubbed repeatedly against all the best places. With his other hand, Zache reached up and gripped the back of Weary's head, shoving em suddenly and dramatically forward, all the way to the base of Durril's considerable length. Weary let out a loud **mrmph!** of alarm; there was no real risk of gagging, but ey did need to _breathe_ , same as anyone else, and Zache held em there with surprising force. Eir throat spasmed wildly, stretching uncomfortably wide. 

Finally, he released, and Weary pulled back quickly, only to have eir head caught by Durril, who took over for Zache and yanked Weary right back down onto his cock. Held em there for less time, fortunately, before pulling back to give em a chance to breathe. Considering, he switched to one of Weary's horns, then both, holding one in each hand to keep em in place and then thrusting experimentally right down eir throat. He seemed to decide he liked it, and kept right on going while Weary worked at timing eir breaths. 

His second hand now free, Zache reached around Weary, grabbing eir cock and beginning to stroke em again. Then he started nibbling playfully at Weary's neck and shoulders, no doubt enjoying the view as Durril roughly fucked into eir mouth again and again. 

Weary, for eir part, was working eir way slowly towards a third and no doubt very dramatic orgasm. The treatment was rougher than ey usually received, but ey wasn't exactly _complaining_ about that. Ey wasn't used to feeling small or weak; despite eir somewhat fey frame, ey was a tall and reasonably strong fellow. But the grip on eir horns was much stronger than ey could have broken, even if ey'd wanted to. Combined with Zache's expert teasing, ey was quickly coming to enjoy this just as much as eir earlier activities between Zache and Vano. 

Durril grew even rougher, thrusting hard enough that Weary's face was becoming a mess of saliva, sticky, wet, slapping noises with each thrust. Ey had not even an inch of slack, unable to pull eir head back, sandwiched in by Zache as he thrusted the toy into em and stroked em in perfectly timed unison. Eir tail thumped wildly against the ground, thrashing harmlessly as ey came steadily closer to climax. 

Ey looked up at Durril, just eir eyes since eir head couldn't move, and suddenly, out of that peripheral vision, ey saw a flash. A horrible flash of eyes, eyes that couldn't have been there, eyes that belonged in nightmares, but Barovia _was_ a nightmare and _that's where ey'd seen them,_ and all ey could see was those teeth, too much tooth to behold, too long and too terrible and-- 

Ey cried weakly around the dick as ey came, splattering the ground with what ey sincerely hoped was eir last load of the night. The sound was lost to hot breaths and groans as Durril, whose broad, toothy grin had so effectively set Weary off, thrusted deep into em and stilled, emptying his load directly down eir throat. 

He gasped for desperate breath as the man finally pulled out. 

"Oh!" Zache said, sounding intensely pleased. "Look, we finally did it!" 

Indeed, Weary was finally softening, more than spent for the night. Thank Lathander, because ey was suddenly very much no longer in the mood, though mercifully the energy from Durril's orgasm was doing much to soothe em in the wake of the terrifying vision. It was impossible to be terrified with this much energy in em, soothing em, comforting em. Ey let it as much as ey could, not wanting to ruin the group's good time. 

"Congratulations," ey said instead, voice coming out very hoarse from all the rough treatment. 


	6. (Can't Get No) Satisfaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific tags: NSFW, non-con/dub-con (in passing), butt stuff, vampire sex, more vampire sex, additional vampire sex

Ey headed out of the wagon perhaps a little more quickly than was strictly necessary, but ey'd never been a cuddler, and if any of those three wanted that, they had each other. A good time had been had by all; eir job was done. It was pretty far into the night by now, so ey didn't bother bundling back up before jumping down out of the wagon. The cold air felt like sharp relief against eir bare skin; ey always ran hot and the layers were concentrated suffering pretty much all of the time. Being able to enjoy the wind with just thin pants on was a rare treat. 

There weren't enough people out right now to worry about modesty, just a Vistani watch or two, plus... Phin, looked like, walking close to Ireena as the two did rounds around the camp. Neither was paying any attention to the interior of the camp, not looking towards the fire lest they ruin their night vision. Ey was as alone as ey was going to get. 

Ey slumped down by the fire, somewhat enjoying the pang of complaining pain from eir ass, echoes of a good time that would keep em from coming apart at the seams for a little longer. The energy coming off those three orgasms was enough that ey was even able to chase the echoes of Strahd-- _not Strahd not Strahd just a vampire_ \--out of eir mind. Ey stretched out by the fire, letting the cold wind and hot fire dry the sweat on eir skin. 

Ey wrote in eir journal for a while, trying to put eir thoughts in a row for the first time since ey'd come to Barovia, but it didn't last--after a while, the wolf came over from wherever it had been, to pester em. 

A wolf the size of a damned horse hadn't taken as long to get used to as ey'd thought it would, and it seemed remarkably tame for something that had been _wild_ , but then, it hadn't been very good at attacking in the first place. It rubbed its face along Weary's shoulder, then gave eir face a very wet lick, until Weary put aside eir journal and tackled it, the two of them rolling through the dirt playfully. 

* * *

What a _show_ that thing put on. 

Strahd had arrived at the Vistani camp to find that his entry had not just been revoked, the cleric had in fact **warded the entire wagon**. It was just _overkill_. Rude, rude overkill. Still, it only extended as far as the walls, so he'd landed on top and lounged, watching the stars--well, the clouds--and listening to muffled moans. Then, he'd decided to explore a bit more literally. He needed eye contact to _really_ delve into the minds of the three men fucking wildly beneath him, but to pick up their very interesting surface thoughts? He could do that easily from here. 

It was a very interesting way to spend an evening, if ultimately unsatisfying. He kept thinking about how much easier it would be for _him_ to wear out that tireless tiefling, and how much the wagon smelled like sweat and flesh and bodies full of hot, pounding blood. And then, at the climax of it all, the tiefling thought of _him_ , had a flash of him and came so hard Strahd had almost been able to feel it leaving its own mind behind. 

If he hadn't been tempted _before_... 

Then the tiefling emerged, still half-naked, to sprawl out tauntingly by the fire. Strahd rolled over to watch it with interest. Its terror at the thought of Strahd's face had melded so _deliciously_ with all that arousal. Strahd could give it that, on purpose, not just a happy accident. He could wear it down and make it beg, until a _holy_ service was the _last_ thing on its mind. 

He could thief it away right now, in fact, or not even bother, just step right down and fuck it senseless in the middle of the camp. There was no one strong enough to stop him, few here who would even dare try. He could make it scream his name in front of a crowd, drain it empty as it begged for more. 

But it would be so much more fun to drag this out, he knew. Things got boring when one was immortal, and the chase could be just as enjoyable as the capture... and the surrender all the sweeter for the torment beforehand. He let the moment pass, watching as one of _his_ wolves came over to play senselessly with the tiefling, like a brain-addled pup. Well. That had always been a defective one. Really, the shock was that it had lived long enough to find a place in the service of someone far less demanding than Strahd. 

Thoughts of ruining the tiefling cleric had been shelved for the night, but that still left options. He was in a camp full of living bodies, after all, several of them new. He idly considered possible targets, when the smaller, femme Vistani slipped out of the wagon. Going to relieve himself behind a tree, it seemed. 

Unfortunate for him; the only one getting relief tonight would be Strahd. 

* * *

The wolf settled down after a while, allowing Weary to sprawl out back against it like a fluffy chair, using eir knees as a table to continue writing in eir journal. Ey'd always been a dog person, maybe that was why the wolf had taken to em so well? And Horse was halfway to animal themselves, not that Weary was keen to admit it. Small wonder it got along so well with the group. 

After ey finished journaling, ey sprawled out over the top of the wolf, laying on it like a bed. Warm and fluffy and breathing; life was a comfort in the face of all this death. 

Strahd, however. Strahd. Was in the bushes, far enough and yet not far enough, close enough and yet _not close enough_ , not for his tastes, hand around the mouth of the effete Vistani that had helped so well-sate Weary moments earlier. Driving into him, wrecking him up against the back of a tree, in fact, but it was unsatisfying. No real fight in him; he'd given up the second he'd realized who it was. Strahd kept his eyes on Weary, lounging by the fire with his dire wolf. A more satisfying catch, for sure. And, as he sank his teeth into his consolation prize's neck, he was sure a more satisfying drink, as well. 

* * *

Whatever Strahd had found out in Barovia, it hadn't been satisfaction. Escher had half-hoped that, in his rage, Strahd would kill the tiefling on the spot. Even though he knew it wasn't really a possibility... Escher's master was well-aware of how much a mortal could take, an expert at keeping it on this side of survivable... until he didn't. 

He'd been a bit worried Strahd would be returning with a new toy, sealing Escher's fate. 

Fortunately, Strahd had clearly not been with the tiefling that night. Not in the carnal sense; he was sulking and irritated, still, when he came back to the castle. Escher watched, for a moment, considering his approach, studying the minute details of his master's mood while he was still distracted. Annoyed, but not furious. Drumming his nails against the surface of a vanity, but no force behind it. Safe, then, to approach with the right attitude. Which was unwise unless one wanted to immediately become the new target for his annoyance, but of course, that was what Escher wanted. 

Attention was attention, and he was sick with worry at being ignored, as of late. 

Escher stepped closer, close enough to be obvious no matter how distracted Strahd was, but not too close, waiting around the edges of the shadows for notice. He didn't have to wait long. Strahd's eyes traced over him, at first annoyance, but then... consideration. The look was enough to make the hair on the back of Escher's neck stand up, something inside--not his lifeless heart, but something that had replaced it--aching with the sudden onset of memories. Hands and teeth and blood and pain and pleasure. All things Strahd could give him, all things Strahd _would_ give him again, if he could just convince him it was worth the time. 

Strahd beckoned him over, and Escher tried not to look _too_ eager or walk _too_ fast. He wasn't sure he succeeded. He tucked his hands behind his back as he stood a little too close, arched his spine just so, looked up at just the right angle, let his lips part just the smallest amount that he knew Strahd liked. 

His master wasn't hard to predict. Just hard to please. 

Strahd tucked a finger under Escher's chin, tilting his head a bit further back. The small touch shot a sensation like lightning through his body. 

"You, at least," Strahd said, slowly. "Would not break so fast." 

Excitement and arousal rocketed through Escher. Had he misjudged? Had Strahd found the tiefling, and also found him wanting? His disappointment, in that case, would be Escher's relief. 

"And I suppose there's something to be said," Strahd continued, consideration in his tone. "For immediate gratification." 

* * *

Ruining Escher was, at this point, familiarity. He'd been broken long ago, and Strahd had long since memorized the lines of his unchanging body, the way his back arched just so, the way he'd cry out with desperate need. His body was cold under Strahd's, but writhing, struggling, even if it was for _more_ rather than _less_. In some ways, he was as much of a compromise as the yielding Vistani, but in the opposite direction. 

Still. At least _some_ satisfaction could yet be strung out of him. Strahd reached to grip a rough fistful of his hair, pulling his head back out of the pillow so he could clearly hear the smaller man's moans and whimpers. Ah, that arch of flawless pale, neck. Too pale, really, to imagine a replacement properly, though it didn't stop Strahd from trying. Would the tiefling keen like this right away? Or would it take effort, working it until it broke and then past that, to pleasure? 

Yes, this mental image was working. Strahd paused only long enough to slam Escher over onto his back, and then got right back to chasing his own satisfaction. Would the tiefling be as hard as Escher? Almost certainly, pleasure beading at its head. It took three men to satisfy that creature, but Strahd wondered how long it would take to do it himself; no touching, just ceaseless pounding until it could take no more. 

Strahd's hands traced up Escher's writhing body, to his neck, where they gripped. Hard, then harder when he recognized the lack of pulse. He could get no satisfaction this way, either, no trembling fear, no tears slipping down the cheeks, no spasming or desperate struggles. Escher had neither pulse nor breath to steal away, but Strahd squeezed like he did anyway, imagining the fear and intensity he'd seen in ashy violet eyes. 

He came like that, finally, imagining struggles of a very different kind, panic and fear and that desperate pleasure and relief at the mercy of breath finally allowed again. There was nothing to sink his fangs into, no delicious tang of fresh blood, fresh _est_ blood, a new flavor unsampled. 

Unsatisfying. 

But better than nothing, he supposed, and the fearful adoration with which Escher was gazing up at him allowed for some proper imagining of that expression on the face of someone different. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Zache (no don't worry he's still alive he just had a really shitty end to his day T_T)


	7. A Chat: Horse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally SFW, just a bit of conversation Weary had with Horse after they found the sunsword artifact. There's one of these for Chara, Bambam, and Zur-snag too, so I hope to get them all written up and posted eventually.

The hags had taken a lot of killing. Weary was sort of amazed they'd all made it out alive, but thanks to a lot of creative thinking, they had. Three hags, two dead and one vanished. 

And as predicted by the fortune teller, Madam Eva, they'd found something very special in that mill. A sword... a magical sentient goddamn artifact, in fact. Weary had spoken to it very briefly, before handing it over to Zur-snag, who was much more suited to that kind of thing. But it nagged at him, the knowledge of what they were carrying around, and ey decided to talk to the others... privately, quietly. 

* * *

"Horse, if you have a moment... I'd like to talk to you about the sword we found in there." 

Horse cocked their head to the side, something had a quizzical sort of effect. Weary always just sort of presumed kobold body language for them, but had no real idea if that was accurate or not. Ey wasn't actually sure what they _were_ , precisely. 

"Yesss?" they say in that hissing voice of theirs. "You gave it away; that wasss strange." 

Weary shrugged. Ey had no use for a sentient sword; ey were hardly the combat type. "It suits Zur-snag much better than it does me. I'm not exactly masterful with a blade. In any case, that's not what's important... the sword itself is something we need to keep a secret. It could attract the wrong kind of attention, and word to anyone could get back to the wrong ears." 

Horse was quiet for a moment, sticking their claw into that creepy damn wooden mask. Weary could hear the sound of licking. "Is... lib-rated? Or eating ssssurprise? Or lev-rage?" The sound of more licking. "Which sssecret?" 

Now it was Weary's turn to consider. "Erm. None of those, possibly." Ey wasn't sure what an 'eating surprise' was, and was frankly a bit scared to ask. Ey was never sure what was or wasn't within Horse's bizarre range of understanding. "If people know about it, people might target Zur-snag. Either to steal it or destroy it," ey explained, hoping hyper-specificity would aid them. "Strong people, people we don't want coming after us. Does that make sense?" 

Horse seemed... confused, maybe, by their posture. It was so hard to tell, with lizards, although Weary hoped ey weren't racist for thinking that. They did nod, however. "Big ssscore," they suggested, then slipped their gloves back on. Knowing there was a small lizard (or giant lizard, by kobold standards) under there didn't help them look less like a very freaky puppet. "Nexsst time, tell before, who isss mark or targetsss or dangersss." They paused. "That way, no questionssss." 

Weary hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, I suppose it's something like a big score." One could arguably not steal a sentient weapon, but that seemed rather pedantic for an underaged lizard clearly raised into organized crime to be able to grasp. Ey considered again before speaking. "...I'll do my best to point out potential dangers. Barovia is the sort of place where it tends to be _obvious_ , but..." It wouldn't do to have Horse shooting any more hags in the back of the head right in the middle of town, really, even if it had been fully justified. "...Where did you learn these things first?" 

It was an unpleasant sort of question, but ey really needed to get a better feel for this child. 

"Bosss teaches," they said, voice short and clipped. Weary frowned. Ey was just as glad Horse was with em, now. All of eir children came from... circumstances... generally speaking, but Weary would not mind the chance to get eir hands on whoever had 'raised' this one. "Barrrrovia isss always dangersss," they hiss quietly. "Never been... ssso many targets. Had to go to the bad place ssso much." 

"The bad place... you mean when you transform?" Weary tapped eir face, indicating the elongating of their face and neck when they fought. "Is it unpleasant for you to do that?" They'd had only one very awkward conversation about it, to date. 

"Feelsss nice. But isss bad. Angry; sssloppy." Horse made an odd gesture, a sort of chop, one hand into the other. Ey didn't think ey'd seen them do that before. 

Weary was pretty sure that transforming into a weird snake monster was not something to do with their _race_ , although the specifics of that did remain a mystery to em. 

"You don't need to do it, if you're worried," ey said finally, after a bit more consideration. "You're strong already, without all the fire and claws." Ey tapped gently on the crossbow strapped to their back, which would have been difficult for em to lift despite being a good two feet taller than them. "I've noticed it seems to injure you," ey added, a bit disapproving. 

Horse shrugged. "Fire burnsss. And bad people hurt more." 

"This is true," Weary agreed. "But if the fire is also burning _you_..." Ey hesitated, searching for the line between permission and command. It was difficult, with ones so clearly accustomed to commands. "It's not something you _have_ to do," ey settled on finally. "We're all strong, especially when we're together. That will keep us safe without anyone of you having to take undue risks." 

Ideally, anyway. 

Horse seemed pretty embarrassed by that degree of concern, shuffling their feet and swaying sheepishly as they walked. "Do bessst. No... halfwaysss." 

"Halfway is fine if it's enough to get the job done," Weary said with the smirk of a much younger person, eyes glinting with amusement. "Anyone who tells you otherwise just wants as much out of you as they can get." 

Horse snuffle-growled softly, but nodded, then tapped Weary in a similar gesture to how ey'd tapped their crossbow. "No worry. Keep sssecret." 

Ey smiled a bit at the returned gesture. "Thank you, Horse." Ey placed a hand, cautious but friendly, on their... head, really, because shoulder would have meant far too much leaning. "Alright. Let's get back to the others, and hopefully our trip to town will be a bit less eventful then the day so far." 


	8. Spooned by Strahd, a novel by Chuck Tingle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weary sent the kids into the woods to gather some ingredients (IE the DM went to camp and I ran the game for two weeks), and had a little adventure of eir own in the meantime. 
> 
> Doesn't really need any extra tags~

There was a tiefling in a clearing, deep in the forests of northern Barovia. Closer to Vallaki than to the lake, but far from either. It was alone, or close to it, no company other than a medium sized brown dog, clearly a pet, useless for protection. This was important to note, because Barovia was not a particularly safe place to camp. Alone. In the woods. 

Despite this, the tiefling didn't appear to be too bothered. It seemed to be in for the long haul, having set up a cauldron on a fire built for longevity. Something bizarre was brewing, filling the clearing with a strange odor. The tiefling was sitting near the fire, skinning a rabbit it had caught in one of the many snares it had put out around the edges of the clearing. It had shed its armor, because of course it had. It had even been stretching, earlier, in that tantalizing way it seemed to so love. 

It had been fully clothed, before, but it had stripped sometime around midday. It couldn't even have been due to the heat; this was Barovia. It was _never_ warm. It just preferred nudity, to be sure, the natural state of something like that. 

It was anyone's guess what the infernal thing was up to, sending its companions into the woods the way it had. Probably, it was bait. Dangling itself purposefully at the end of a string, all alone and tantalizingly defenseless, stretching and chopping wood and generally being as sexual as possible doing the most benign tasks. 

It was something interesting to watch, at least, for Strahd. 

He couldn't help smiling; he'd had this thing pegged for an exhibitionist early on, and he'd clearly been _very_ right. But what was it's game? Was it really just angling to appeal to him? It clearly knew that he could be watching at any time, what with the _ward_ incident in the Vistani camp a few nights back. But Strahd had seen into its mind and gotten quite the taste of just how terrified of him it was. As much as the average citizen here. Possibly more, which was impressive, given that it had been in Barovia for a matter of weeks, and had yet to even meet him. 

It might just be the kind of thing to enjoy that, given how hard it had come while thinking of him. A thought that made it difficult to wait in the shadowy corners of the woods while the tiefling began cooking the rabbit on a slab of stone beside the fire, shooing the dog away repeatedly. While the food cooked, it stood again to check on the concoction in the cauldron, stirring a bit, sniffing it, and then adding some powder from a pouch. 

_Something_ alchemical. Not holy water, remarkably. Normally, everyone just made holy water. 

If it was smart, it would probably be making holy water. But then again, it's not like it would really help it in the long run. 

Strahd watched, idly, as the tiefling went through a day in its life. Alone. Still alone, remarkably, as afternoon began to fade towards twilight. Had it sent the _children_ out _alone_ into the woods? That would be hilariously foolish, if not for the infinitely more foolish decision to stay in those same woods by itself. 

As shadows began to lengthen, it stopped what it was doing to put its armor back on. An interesting decision, after parading itself around in nothing but a loose shirt and tight pants all damn day. Getting scared, perhaps? It would be interesting to see how it reacted to a night alone in the woods. There were a lot of fun games to be played, depending on how patient Strahd wanted to be. Which, generally, was very, but hadn't he already been so very patient with this thing already? And he did have questions that needed answering. 

* * *

Weary had sent eir children into the woods. 

As bad ideas went, it was up there, but they were short on time in Barovia. It felt dangerous to stay in one place for long. After a few days in Vallaki, ey'd gotten twitchy, and the idea of even two days here in the woods before heading back in was nerve-wracking. Barovia was not that large, and ey would have preferred to keep moving. But here, in the woods, it was easy to feel like they were hidden. 

This would let em brew the potions at the same time the last ingredients ey needed were gathered. It would half their wasted time. Anything could happen in the span of a day. In a way, this was safer. Ey told emself that as they fretted the day away. Yoga and prayer and trapping wild game and endless alchemy to get the base for the potions just right. 

It was almost nostalgic. This was how ey spent eir days for years. Decades. Out in the woods, gardening, trapping, fishing, reading, prayer, yoga. A peaceful life filled with the sounds of children laughing and fighting and yelling, nature and sunshine. Unfortunately, ey had none of those things here. Just a dark forest with tall, tall trees and dark, dark shadows. 

It was unwise to sleep in eir armor. It was also unwise to sleep, period, but ey couldn't risk trying to stay up when ey didn't know how long the children would be gone. Lucy was a decent guard dog; her barking should awaken em if something came close. Ey contemplated putting wards down, but it wouldn't last through the night... and ey might need all eir strength, if ey was attacked alone out here. The children had each other. Ey had emself, and nothing but. 

Ey ran fingers across the holy symbol on eir cloak, a nervous habit. There were no walls out here, no doors. No place from which to uninvite Strahd von Zarovich. Was this the stupidest thing ey had ever done? Should ey have given up on the potions, stayed in Vallaki? The church was a safe haven again now, thanks to em. 

Ey allowed emself a proud smile at that. Morninglord only knew what they'd stumbled into, but ey'd followed through on the mystery of the missing sacred bones immediately. And found them, and stolen them back, and killed those vampire spawn. Ey suspected they'd been threatening the coffinmaker, somehow, but ey didn't know how or why or what they'd been intending to use the bones for. Possible, ey supposed, that the man had stolen them for himself, thinking they'd protect him from the literal vampire infestation in his house. 

But in the end, it didn't matter. The bones were safe, the young gravedigger Chara was sweet on unpunished. No one had died. No one had even gotten hurt. A job well done. 

Maybe that was why ey'd felt confident enough to do this. Where was that confidence now, in the setting sun of Barovia? Ey sighed. Ey'd stay up a bit longer--just after sunset seemed to be the most dangerous--and then try to get some rest. Tomorrow, surely, the children would be back. How hard could it be for four people and a giant wolf to pick flowers in the damned woods? 

* * *

It _went to bed._

All by itself in the woods of Barovia, Count Strahd von Zarovich hovering along the outskirts of its camp, it had simply crawled into its tent. 

It was as simple as revealing himself to the dog, exerting the tiniest bit of will, to get it to scamper off into the night, silent. Smart little thing. Had it barked, he would simply have killed it. Smarter than its master, who slumbered so peacefully in its tent. Curious, Strahd opened the flap at the front. Goodness, yes, there it was. Sound asleep. Its chest rose and fell with each breath, though it was a bit hard to see under so many layers. It slept fully clothed and fully armored on top of its bed roll. Its sleeping face was peaceful, almost, mouth falling open into a slight 'o'. 

This was the closest Strahd had been to his new prey thus far, and it was sound asleep. This was, admittedly, not how these things normally went. There tended to be a lot of panic. Screaming. Sometimes just utter submission. But sleeping was rare. Unsurprisingly, people slept lightly in Barovia, and even moreso when outside of a house. 

No point in wasting the opportunity. Amused, Strahd slid into the tent, sprawling out next to the sleeping tiefling, who barely stirred. A solid sleeper. An unfortunate trait to have here. 

It was breathing deeply, but the movement behind its eyelids revealed that it was certainly dreaming. Even with this distance between them, scant though it might have been, Strahd could feel the warmth coming off of the tiefling. It ran hot, _very_ hot! How cute. He could hear the slow, steady thudding of its heart, pumping fiery warmth through its body. 

He reached out, and ran cold fingertips along the heat of the tiefling's jugular. It was almost hot to the touch, and Strahd immediately wanted to feel much more. There was, unfortunately, little else to feel. What kind of a creature spent the day in underclothes and then slept in armor? All these wretched layers; even its neck was partially obscured by the ridiculous red scarf-thing so many of Lathander's pets wore. 

Strahd let his fingers run over the front of its throat, and the tiniest little noise escaped its slightly-open mouth. A breathy little noise, one that wanted to be a moan. One that could be, surely. He ran a thumb right down the front of its throat, and it stirred slightly, eyelashes fluttering. 

* * *

Weary was dreaming. 

It was a good dream, one full of heat and pleasure, one that invoked the copious amount of sex ey'd been indulging in to keep emself from completely losing eir mind here in Barovia. Drinking in so many orgasms that they almost bled together, the warmth of the Vistani boys, the endless joy of those men and women in Vallaki: the odd traveling man, the once-married woman who'd deserved better, and her ex-husband's new girlfriend, all of whom ey'd drank clean into a very restful sleep. 

Ey had to stay high on these things to make it through the nights. Ey was sorely missing company now, wishing ey'd been able to bottle one of those orgasms to help em through a night alone in the woods. But the dreams helped a little bit. 

Or they did, anyway, until ey was remembering the way it felt to have come pouring down the back of eir throat, and ey looked up and ey saw _those eyes, those teeth, that pale face, frozen in time and horrifying, *_ straight off the back of the coins, no mistaking it, not Strahd not Strahd not***-- 

Ey didn't awake with a start, because ey wasn't in the habit of that sort of thing. Instead, ey woke the way most people did from nightmares--upset and confused, groggy and frightened. Ey awoke, and eir first thought was one of relief--it had been a nightmare, of course. Eir second thought was that ey could still feel the pressure of hands on eir body, like in the dream. Eir third, and the ones that followed, all blurred together as ey slowly opened eir eyes. A body. In the tent, with him, a hand actually pressed against him, cold like ice, cold like a corpse. 

Eir eyes abruptly focused. 

Impossibly, ey was staring directly into the face of Count Strahd von Zarovich, who was lounging not a foot away as if he belonged there. Ey was briefly stunned, for only a second or two. In which Strahd smiled, that same smile full of too much tooth, that ey'd seen in eir nightmare. 

No longer caring if ey was losing eir mind or not, eir whole body exploded with radiant energy at once, like a fireball inside the tent, power exploding out from eir body in every direction as every nerve of em focused on one thing. **_GETTING THAT AWAY._**

The tent shredded, along with the bedroll, as Weary rolled backwards, still bursting with energy, seeing in the sudden bright-as-day light that Strahd was leaping back as well. Ey rolled back up onto eir knees, eyes focused on that dark form. It could surely be on top of em in an instant. Unthinking, ey slammed eir hand into the ground, all but _yelling_ a prayer at the top of eir lungs, holy power burning ring and symbols into the grass. A circle around em, runic and glowing. 

And as the light faded to a light glow, there was Count Strahd von Zarovich, seemingly unscathed by the burst, watching with a smile on his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There'll be more of this soonish! Just wanted to get the first bit out so the players could read it before our session tonight. :p


	9. Manners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW. TW for... general menacing?, Strahd being creepy?, reference towards past non-con, maybe? IDK, Strahd's just creepy and we have to roll with it

"--absolutely no manners whatsoever," Strahd was saying. He was close enough now that he could--and did--put his hand against the solid invisible wall of the ward. It rested there, flat against nothingness in the air. Weary was trying to catch up to the reality of eir situation, and having some serious difficulty with it. Ey was very glad that eir body had reacted before eir mind could, because ey was still stuck on shock, or possibly denial, as the vampiric lord of Barovia ran long, pale fingers along a solid force in the air, only a few feet away from where Weary crouched, hand on the ground in case ey needed to feed more power into the wards. 

"I come all this way to talk, and you... _explode._ Honestly. And this?" He lifted his hand just enough to lightly flick a finger against the transparent wall of the ward, which rippled, but held firm. "Where are you from, that this is how they greet strangers?" 

Weary stared, mixed horror and sheer stubborn refusal to accept that this was in fact real. The man in front of him couldn't possibly be anyone but Count Strahd von Zarovich. Ey had studied his face at length, portraits from back when he'd been human. He hadn't particularly changed. Long, dark hair, straight and perfect, not a strand out of place. Standing with such perfect posture, one hand behind his back in a pose that should have looked stiff but didn't. Just natural, when nothing about him should have been natural. 

His face was on the _coinage_ here. There was no more room for denial. Ey could see the shadowy lines of his pale face, sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw. Attractive, if he hadn't been so busy being terrifying. If he hadn't haunted Weary's nightmares for decades. 

Strahd snapped his fingers, breaking Weary from eir horrified reverie. "Are you stupid as well as rude? What a shame." 

"Goodness, yes, how rude of me," Weary's mouth was saying before eir brain could finish catching up. "We do so love waking up to _vampires_ in our _tents_ here in Barovia." As if this was any vampire. As if ey didn't know exactly who it was. 

Strahd pressed the fingers of one hand against his chest in exaggerated offense. " _Vampires?_ " 

Weary rolled eir eyes. 

"I am not just a _vampire_ , little cleric. I am Count Strahd von Zarovich. Barovia is _mine_ ; I own everything here. The land. The trees. The people, their very souls. In fact, _you_ are in Barovia, whatever wretched little shanty town you came from, which means now, I do in fact own _you_. So do _try_ to have some **manners**." 

Weary knew. Of course Weary had known. But hearing it said out loud was the last little push for the reality of the situation to settle in, finally. Ey stared up, horrified, willing eir face not to show that purest of primal fears. 

Ey was alone. In the woods. With the most powerful vampire in the nine realms. Between em and him? One little ward, and however much strength ey could shove into it. 

Death... was the best case scenario for em here. 

But death... was not an escape. Not from Barovia. Ey had always suspected ey would be unable to rest by Lathander's side, given eir infernal nature, but even the Nine Hells would be preferable to this. To any of this. 

_No escape no escape no escape_ **_no escape no escape no escape NO ESCAPE NO ESCAPE_**

"Better," Strahd said with a put-upon sigh. "Better still if you removed this rude little pretense." He tapped against the ward. Weary pushed more power into it, pointedly, glaring up at the vampire. Strahd _pouted_. It was not an expression ey had expected to see on his face, ever. "Fine, if it makes you so happy. I simply figured, as you are _new_ here--and we do so rarely see new faces--I should give you a proper welcome into my country." 

Strahd crossed his arms. It felt like he was doing it slowly, but reasonably, he wasn't. Perhaps time simply felt like it was going slower, what with all the panic and adrenaline coursing through every inch of Weary, nowhere to go _nowhere to go nowhere **no where nowherenowhere**_ \--

Focus. Breathe. _Breathe, damnit._

"I come all this way to be the best host I can be, and this is how you respond. Throwing around _wards_ like the rudest creature alive. As if you expect me to _hurt_ you!" Strahd actually sounded genuinely put-out by that. The absurdity of it caused a shaking staccato beat of manic laughter to bubble out of Weary's throat. "It _is_ ridiculous," Strahd said, as if agreeing. "And yet here you sit. Well." He looked down his nose at Weary. "Kneel, in any case." 

He shrugged, barely, but it was enough to make the firelight shift through the furs on his shoulders. "It's a good look for you, certainly. While that is an acceptable position from which to pledge yourself into my service, there should ideally not be a _wall_ in the way." 

Weary bristled, unwisely. "I already have a master," ey informed Strahd, having _apparently_ decided ey was going to die _rebellious and proud_ like a _fucking idiot_. 

Strahd scoffed, not quite a laugh, but close. "You do know where you are, yes? Your master can't even hear you, let alone give you orders. What good is that, to have an owner for your soul in name only?" 

Weary gestured around with the hand ey wasn't keeping on the ground. "I am feeling very worshipful at the moment, all things considered." 

"And yet it's going to waste," Strahd said mournfully, stroking long fingers over the surface of the ward. "You're clearly the _devoted_ type, but here you are, without a master who can use you _properly_. Left alone and adrift with naught but a wretched _mob_ of little children. What kind of fool god would send you off alone? And a poor example, at that, seeing as how you did the same thing. Did you think children would be safe, wandering through the woods of Barovia?" 

Weary grimaced, glaring to the side to avoid having to look directly at Strahd. They would be fine. They were strong. There was a giant wolf with them. What would eir presence really have added? Other than... healing. And a lot of wisdom. And someone to yell "don't touch that!" at the top of their lungs. 

God. 

"Did you think they could take care of themselves?" Strahd wondered aloud, as if echoing eir thoughts. "Here, of all places? What makes you think that, I wonder? What could be so special about them, that sending them off into the woods makes for anything other than a suicide mission?" 

Ey looked up at him, sharply, eyes narrow and teeth halfway to bared. Was he fishing for information about the children? What did he know; what had he heard? Not about the sword, please, Lathander, not that. Ey looked away again, pointedly, and Strahd tsked in clear disappointment. 

"We really will have to do something about this lack of manners. I came all this way just to talk, you know. Why not put aside this petty nonsense," he taps on the ward. "So we can talk comfortably?" 

"There is a magical wall preventing you from touching me," Weary said flatly. "I believe this is the most comfortable I'll ever be in your presence, if _that's_ your concern." 

"Do you really think so? You have a very limited imagination, if so. Although you don't seem like someone particularly invested in your own comfort, I must say." He sounded amused. "How many men have you ridden since you arrived here? You appear to be working your way through the entire population." 

"That's _very_ comfortable," Weary said dryly. 

"I suppose it _is_ your natural state of being," Strahd agreed mildly. "But honestly, isn't three men in a night a little excessive? You could simply go for _quality_ over _quantity_. That little one was certainly nothing to write home about. You know, the smallest Vistani. Was he always so dull, or did you simply tire him out?" 

Weary stared up in abject horror. "...Zache?" ey asked, voice quaking slightly. They'd... left so early the next morning, had ey seen him? Had ey seen _any_ of them?! "W... what did you do?" 

"I simply _tried_ to extract some enjoyment from him, as you were _otherwise occupied_ with that stupid wolf of yours. It wasn't particularly stimulating, although I suppose the view was nice enough." He gestured towards Weary. "You should really lounge half-nude with more frequency. It looks far more natural on you than this silly little pious costume." 

Weary, for eir part, was just trying to keep eir brain from shutting down entirely out of some kind of horror-related self-defense mechanism. It was too much to deal with. Too much to absorb, couldn't be coped with. Ey felt a wave of nausea on top of it all, eir food from the day before threatening to rise into eir throat as bile. 

"Were you even sated after that, or did you just get tired of all that human flailing?" Strahd wondered. "Poor thing, honestly, once again at a loss for someone who can use them _properly_. I'm sensing a running theme in your life." 

Weary bit eir lip, focused on the ward. He was trying to distract em, surely, so ey'd let it waver. The steady flow of power gave em something to focus on, something that wasn't... Strahd. 

How had eir life come to this? All ey'd wanted was a peaceful fucking life, helping children, tending to the grieving. Picking fucking _flowers_. Not _this_. Why had Lathander sent em here, what was this supposed to _accomplish_? Ey was no war cleric, ey never had been. Surely there were better people for this task than em and eir poor children. 

The sight of Zur-snag with that sword didn't fill em with pride and never had. He was no holy warrior. He shouldn't _have_ to wield that bloodthirsty thing. He should have been at home in the garden, chasing squirrels. Chara should be in the inn fawning over the fisherman's son, not trapped in a world that desperately wanted to take advantage of someone like her. Bambam should be with his _parents_ , and Horse... Horse... 

Ey had no idea where Horse had been before here, but it probably hadn't actually been much better. That thought had em digging eir claws into the dirt. 

"What _are_ you up to?" Strahd's voice broke Weary out of eir thoughts. Eir head snapped up, to find him further away, leaning over eir alchemy pot on the fire. "Is this the use you've found for all those ground bones you swiped from the hags? Smells wretched." 

It smelled fine. He was just being an asshole. 

"I'm not a monster," Weary snapped. "I buried the bone dust. It was the least I could do." Ey'd done the best they could to mark the grave with rocks. Ey hadn't known how many children ey were burying, but had done eir best to send them to Lathander's side. Not that they would ever know that peace; their souls were as trapped in here as eir's was. 

Strahd laughed. It sent a chill straight down Weary's spine. "Will you do this for your children, as well, when they're nothing but bones?" 

Weary's jaw clenched, hard enough that ey bit eir lip. Ey swallowed the blood, not wanting to let the smell of it hit the air and rile Strahd up further. Ey simply glared; ey had no real response. Hopefully, ey would not outlive eir children. Hopefully, they would not have to live their lives in this hell. The Vistani knew ways out, there had to be something. Ey just needed to... get to the abbey, maybe, share eir research, do more. There had to be a way. There had to be. ~~_No escape no escape no_~~ Had. To. Be. 

"If you're scared of them dying, I suppose you could give them to me," Strahd reasoned. "Children are obnoxious, but perhaps after they've ripened a bit, they could make decent spawn. The girl, I suppose, could be turned right now, if you worry for her." 

"Keep your _fucking_ hands off of them," Weary snarled, voice low. 

"Manners," Strahd warned. 

"Shall I say _please_?" Weary snapped back. 

"Not in _that_ tone. I know you're better at begging than that." 

"Are you not _bored_ of groveling yet? After four hundred years? You must have a high tolerance for it." 

"Some are more satisfying to see on their knees than others," Strahd replied evenly, glancing back over towards em. 

"If being on my knees could keep them safe, I would never stand again," Weary hissed darkly. "But I know you, and this wretched place. It would not." 

"Barovia can be a _very_ safe place for those I favor," Strahd said, corners of his mouth pulling down into a bit of a scowl. It showed the points of sharp fangs. 

"We simply have very different definitions of the word 'safe,' Count Strahd," ey replied, with as much respect as ey could muster. It was not a great deal. 

"And who will provide it for them? You?" Strahd asked, sounding amused. "Little cleric, you can't even protect _yourself_. You weren't built for this. Look at you." Strahd gestured at em, vaguely. "You were built to serve. It's all you know to do. That's why you entered into the service of such a petty god. Put you in charge, and you are utterly lost. I would never be so cruel to you." 

"I have full confidence in your capacity for cruelty," Weary said darkly. "I am sure you could outdo _any_ god." 

"My but you _are_ a sharp-tongued little thing, cowering behind your wall. Would you be so bold without it, I wonder?" Strahd asked, slowly approaching again. He was walking around em as he did so, and Weary didn't dare take eir hand off the ward to follow his movements. "You didn't seem nearly so brave in the streets of Barovia at night. Although I suppose it takes a certain kind of boldness to be out at night at all. One you clearly possess in spades." 

Weary suppressed a shudder. Outside Ismark's house, at the Vistani camp, and here. Had Strahd been shadowing em this entire time? And more importantly... 

"Why are you so interested in me?" Weary asked, glancing back over eir shoulder at where Strahd idly circled em. "I'm certain you have infinitely more important things to be doing with your time." 

"This is true," Strahd agreed. "But you do so consistently intersect with my other interests." Weary felt, horrifyingly, something come down on the very tip of eir tail, _hard_. Ey let out an agonized scream as it was ground into the dirt, but before ey could whip it back into the protection of the circle, it was being dragged backwards, and em with it. 

"No!" ey gasped, digging the claws of one hand deep into the dirt instinctively. The other one swung around as ey was dragged half-way out of the circle, Strahd's cold hand pulling firmly, painfully, twisting the sensitive tip around his fist. Weary let out a panicked burst of radiant energy directly into Strahd's face. And it hit him, ey _saw_ it hit em, dead on, a brutal connection that should have left any undead smoldering. 

Instead, he released eir tail, and laughed. A full, rolling laughter, chaotic and cruel, with glinting fangs on full display. Weary scrambled back into the protection of the circle, tucking eir tail around em in a circle. Ey stared at the unharmed Strahd in abject horror. 


End file.
